“It’s still a marvel to me that we are to be forgiven,” she said, turning. “These are the playgrounds of life. She warmed to him fast, her anger was much harder to carry than the pleasant everyday neutrality of affection. . Spare him!—pity me!" With this she arose, and, taking up the infant, was about to proceed down stairs, when she was alarmed by hearing the street-door opened, and the sound of heavy footsteps entering the house. “I must explain to her. Her fingers opened and the weapon fell from her nerveless grasp.
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